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“You know, Joel, when you so subtly indicated that you wanted to work with me, I thought it’d include some… cooperation?” Scott glanced down at him, arms crossed over his chest with a sort of bemused but also maybe a little bit peeved expression on his stupid face.
Joel looked up at him. His hands were currently buried within the wires of an unsprung trap. At the surface, it had just looked like a simple container of a kind, no bigger than a shoebox, and made of dark metal. When he’d first gotten it open, he’d been met with a panel of switches—that he was careful not to touch—and the aforementioned wires. After five minutes of fidgeting with the insides, it looked more like wire pasta than a proper electrical system.
It was most likely an alarm system. And an alarm system made by the Watchers was a trap.
He was trying to disarm it. (It could be going better).
“I didn’t mean for this part!” he hissed. “Just—I need you to just keep looking out!”
He was a little stressed. It was stupid. He had made a flimsy plan and now he needed to deal with that. Scott had literally been the only one available who would realistically go along, but that had definitely only been because he wanted to see Joel fail. Anyone in Grian’s little squad of awesome heroes, including the man himself, would have turned it down. They were “morally upstanding” or whatever, as if Grian hadn’t committed more acts of terrorism than the rest of them combined.
Whatever. Bloodshed showed more results against the Watchers than what the Hermits had been doing for ages.
“Yeah, I feel really needed right now,” Scott deadpanned. Then he crouched down next to Joel. “Will you at least tell me your plan? Is this an assassination? Because I have seen you attempt assassinations before and—”
Joel grimaced. “Don’t remind me. And no. It isn’t. It’s actually really noble of me.”
“Uh huh,” Scott said. “Am I allowed to guess?”
“Only if you’re not smug about it.”
Scott’s lip quirked in a little smirk before his expression morphed into one of fake thoughtfulness. He placed a finger on his chin and looked up. Annoying. “Well, earlier today Pearl happened to tell me that Cub had managed to track down one of the Watchers’ storage locations. And then you asked me for lunch a few minutes later!”
And then Joel had written the address of the building they were currently breaking into with a time to arrive. Scott did not have to tell that part of the story. He hadn’t needed to tell any part.
“So you clearly knew that I wasn’t going to try… you know,” Joel grumbled, more annoyed than he ought to be already. “You didn’t call them in, did you?”
“Nah. Figured this would be more fun.”
That was why Joel had reached out to Scott. See, Joel had gotten Cub’s data from Etho—who was firmly against Joel’s methods, but surprisingly willing to encourage them—and had considered a few people. Jimmy was bad for a stealth mission. Grian was trying to play by the rules (lame). Lizzie was on a diplomatic visit in the East Sea.
Scott was a goody two shoes too. He was completely morally superior, the perfect nuisance. But, sometimes he would go along with a plan if he wanted to watch where it went and then feel better than everyone else if it went awry. This would usually make Joel want to end him, but today he needed backup, and the benefit of having the most perceptive man in the city following him around in enemy territory outweighed the want to murder him.
Stealing from the Watchers was a rare opportunity. The organisation was the murkiest one in the world and the long-term nuisance of every hero and vigilante in the city. No one had ever (knowingly) encountered a member without their signature masks. It was infuriating how good at evasion they were. But that was also why Joel was there the moment he had gotten the news that they knew one location. The Hermits wanted to play it slow, that was fine. Dumb, but fine. Joel would just get all the rewards for himself. He couldn’t complain.
The Watchers also earned some credit for their security—as if they needed to excel in that too. Joel wasn’t the best at traps, but he had spent enough time around nerds like Tango and Impulse to be far above average. He also worked alone for the most part, so even within the industry, he was considered perfectly capable of disarming traps—
“Are we ever gonna get inside?” Scott asked.
Joel bared his teeth. “I’m working on it, Scott!”
Scott reached out and put his hand on Joel’s, signalling for him to pause fidgeting with the wires. He knew perfectly well that Joel would willingly bite his hand off. (Joel didn’t bite his hand off). He pulled both his hands out and let Scott look at it too. Not because Scott was better! Scott was good, an equal, but he took his sweet time with things. “Patience is a virtue, Joel,” he had said once many years ago. “The reason half of your missions fail is because you don’t have it.” Asshole.
After a few minutes of heavy focus from Scott’s side, he pointed to a little black wire lining the inner wall of the box. “Looks like we can cut that one.” He moved his finger to the other side and pointed at another one. One that was also thin as a string and black. “Or that one.”
“They’re identical,” Joel pointed out.
“Even odds.” Scott shrugged.
Joel blinked, momentarily overtaken by confusion, before his expression morphed into a grin. “You’re bold today. I like it.”
Scott matched his grin with a smile. “It’s like you keep forgetting I don’t operate by their rules either.”
Them being the Hermits. Who would most certainly not entertain the fifty-fifty odds of which wire to cut to either turn off these traps or activate whatever defensive mechanism they had. They’d follow their little protocols, send a mechanic, review the results, put together the ideal group, and then they would strike. Joel had ruined that the moment he showed up.
“Yeah, yeah,” Joel dismissed. “Wanna go with the one on the left?”
“You get to choose if you agree with my precautions,” Scott negotiated.
Joel rolled his eyes. “Fine. Shoot.”
“Let me do it.”
Joel’s eye twitched.
They both knew very well what Scott meant by that offer. If someone were to get hurt by this, I’d rather it be me. The stupid and self-sacrificial idiot that he was. Of course that was it. Next, he was going to say something dumb about how he’d recover faster from the potential drawback.
“Joel,” Scott said gravely, right on cue. “I heal faster than you.”
Joel glared at him. Scott faced him with a blank expression.
The staredown lasted maybe ten seconds at best before Joel groaned. “Fine. But I’m not gonna be sad if you explode or something. Idiot.”
Scott smiled again, this time with a hint of fondness—yes, Joel knew how to recognize that emotion on Scott’s face and he hated when it was directed at him. They were enemies, for goodness’ sake! Reluctant allies was probably more accurate—but they hated each other! Somewhat. They used to hate each other more. They got together as civilians a lot these days. It still counted.
Related to none of that, Joel really hoped that the left wire was the right choice.
He stepped back, following Scott’s precautions as promised. The entrance was in an alley—cliche much—so he backed away until he was back to the road, standing with his back against the wall just by the corner. Close enough that he could step into action, should that be needed, and far enough away to not deal with a pissy Scott.
Ten seconds. That was the silent understanding that had developed over time. Cutting a wire took no time, Scott could do it in two, so that left a reaction period. Joel hated that one the most. He despised that he had to stand there and just wait—oh, your friend ally might explode or fall into a pit of piranhas at any moment, but please, do stand still!
Neither of those things happened to Scott. He even had a second to spare to come get Joel himself.
“Left was a good choice,” he said, smiling again. This time, his joy came from the thrill of success. It was one hell of a drug.
“I know,” Joel said. “I’m great. Now let’s go steal some Watcher shit.”
Here was what Etho had told him over text on their burner phones: the address of the location with the words ‘potential watcher storage’ underneath.
The truth was that while the Hermits did have a lot of boring protocols to follow, they were also willing to bend the rules here and there. Like if a vigilante who was also an ally happened to get his hands on the same information, then said ally could go check out the location and do it more quickly. Then it would be up to the vigilante to decide if he wanted to share his hypothetical findings. Joel liked being on the good side of the Hermits, seeing as they were the biggest, oldest group of heroes ever, so he agreed to be a part of their network. A very distant part. And for his vague and occasional assistance, he got to not be apprehended when operating in their territory.
He was beginning to think that ‘potential watcher storage’ was inaccurate. Not because the place he and Scott walked into wasn’t their place—it most certainly was—but because it had severely understated how important the place was.
Joel felt like they were being watched from the moment they walked in. He and Scott checked every corner, every room they walked into, for cameras, but found none.
The building was only two floors, and it was old. They scoured the whole first floor and found that it mostly just looked abandoned. The corners of the walls were spotted with black mould, the black wallpaper was chipping off in most of the hallways, revealing red bricks. Every new room had the Watchers’ symbol spray painted or carved into the walls or the ceiling. It was creepy. Joel hated it. Sneaking into places wasn’t his usual MO. He liked the thrill of a good chase, jumping around buildings, saving people one day and causing some trouble the next. This cult stuff was plain freaky.
Also, there was an infuriating lack of things to steal on the first floor. So, they tried the next.
Things got a bit more exciting up there. The stairway led them directly into a hallway with mirrors for walls. It did not ease the feeling of being watched at all. There were about six door handles to be seen, three on each side.
“Do you also find it weird that it’s empty?” Scott asked.
Joel just shrugged. He didn’t really want to say the words: Oh, I don’t think it’s empty here at all. Scott knew him well enough to know that they were both feeling that. He just didn’t like the silence.
“One door at a time?” Joel offered. When Scott nodded, he chose the first door to their right and opened it for the both of them to walk in. He almost let out a squeal of excitement, which turned into a choked noise in his throat.
In that room, just in front of them, were piles upon piles of crates. Each one of them was marked with symbols of what was inside. TNT, guns, crossbows, arrows, potions, swords, enchanted books. All of that and more.
“Dibs on the potions,” Scott whispered, striding forward with purpose. He opened the crate and looked into it with a glint in his eyes. “Oh, this is rare.”
Joel grinned. “All for you, lad.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “Get your TNT. We probably don’t have that long.”
Joel didn’t need to be told twice. They had both brought bags enough to carry plenty, but it was rather upsetting that they would have to leave most of the crates behind. They didn’t have the Hermit budget for all the fancy stuff. Like bloody enchanted books.
Thank you, Etho, he thought, for once, you gave me something good.
Which, very ironically, was the last thought he had before he heard the click of a door opening down the hall, followed by voices.
So, here was the thing. Joel had better hearing than Scott. Joel’s senses were what kept him alive in an industry of super freaks, and he was thankful that they were the smallest bit sharper than average. Because that could, in a hypothetical scenario, put him ahead of say, his friend who was reading the labels of bottles to himself like some blummin’ idiot a metre or so away, and give him enough time to rush over there and cover his friend’s mouth with his hand.
Also, the hypothetical scenario wasn’t hypothetical at all.
Scott didn’t flinch. He froze, and he waited. That was another nice thing about him. He knew that Joel didn’t mess around on serious missions. That if Joel did something seemingly spontaneous, he had picked up on something. Despite his constant holier-than-thou attitude, Scott was well aware of Joel’s strengths and his own shortcomings.
The voices moved closer to the door they had left slightly ajar like morons. Scott tapped Joel’s arm twice— I hear them, I will be quiet —and Joel let go and hurried forward, pulling out his axe. He stopped halfway there.
Because he recognised that voice.
Fuck. What?
He whipped his head around to share a look with Scott, who for once in his life looked equally as alarmed by the circumstances.
It was BigB’s voice.
Joel should have swung anyway; he should’ve gone for the kill just like he always did. Hesitating on the field was a fatal mistake and now they both might die because he was shocked. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Is that door meant to be open?” the voice of an ally said from the other side—BigB was a part of the network. He wasn’t a hero, but he was a friend.
This was a misunderstanding. The Hermits were running a mission at the same time as them and as soon as BigB and whoever he was talking to came through the door, they would all laugh about it. Ha ha, we thought you were gonna come in and kill us. Anyway wanna grab some dinner I heard about this new place downtown—
No. Bad. Focus.
The creak of the door brought him right back into reality.
“Oh, it’s a little Hermit-friend,” a voice he didn’t recognize said.
Two people entered the room. Both were wearing the signature cloak and mask—because they were ostentatious egomaniacs (and that was coming from Joel) —and the one furthest away had a familiar height and stature.
Joel tightened his grip on his axe. “I will murder you, you know.”
“On your own?” the one that wasn’t a damn traitor asked, voice dripping with superiority.
“Yup. On my own. With ease, also,” Joel said confidently, internally thinking calm thoughts like stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, they have not seen Scott for some godforsaken reason. “I could take on five of you at once if I wanted to."
“That won’t be necessary,” the Watcher responded. “This place has been compromised, so we will be getting rid of it shortly.”
They might as well just have thrown Joel into the northern seas with how cold that statement made him feel. Cool. They were going to demolish the building. That was Joel, Scott, BigB, and a stranger dead—without counting civilian casualties. Great mission. Joel always wanted to die with regrets.
“That’s very drastic,” Joel deadpanned. “Are you sure a renovation wouldn’t do the trick?” Something touched his cheek with three quick taps with a gentle finger. Conveniently enough, Joel couldn’t see Scott, but he did as Scott had done earlier. Which was nothing. He kept talking. “No? I guess we’ll just die together then. Any fun things you wanna share for the occasion?”
He could hear the smile in the Watchers’ voice as they spoke. “I’m afraid you’re going to be the only casualty here tonight. That will send a wonderful message to the runaway.”
Joel shifted his feet. He wanted to fight, but—ugh. Intel. This was some good fucking intel. But it wasn’t just that. It was Scott’s lack of action. He was there. He had signalled to Joel that he was there. Invisible and surrounded by an array of weapons with a huge advantage—he must’ve grabbed a potion, Joel distantly realised. Nice job, idiot. Now help me out.
“You could just give me their blummin’ address.”
“Hm.” The Watcher shrugged and Joel’s eyes burned with the urge to kill. “No. And we will have to leave now. It’s nothing personal.”
Well. That was his time running out.
“This won’t be either” Joel growled and stepped forward. “I’ll remove your stupid head from your stupid shoulders, and then I’ll take off your stupid mask and identify you and give your head to your friends and family—if you have any—”
“Joel,” BigB interrupted, effectively shutting him off and sending him back into shock—and how Joel swore he could hear regret in that traitor’s voice. “I’m sorry.”
In one swift, incredibly smooth movement, he raised his arm, the sleeve of the cloak flowing elegantly as a long knife with a bright magenta tip came into view. Joel couldn’t react before there was a knife in his stomach.
Credit where credit was due. The Watchers were fantastic with their poisons.
Black dots entered his vision before the knife had even been removed.
He fell to his knees, trying to keep just enough sense to—to do something. Stop the bleeding. Useless without an antidote. There was no trusting his senses anymore. He felt as if his head was underwater, but there were distant voices, hundreds of them, but not a single word could be made out.
His vision swam and he was on the floor, but he was at least three per cent sure that he saw the cloaked figures slither out through the door. He heard no click, no slam—they didn’t even feel like it was worth it to lock him up. Fair. He couldn’t even get up. His palms were flat against the floor and he was breathing heavily. He could see little, fuzzy drops of red staining the floor.
And it all hurt. The area where he’d been stabbed seared, making him want to remove that part of his body—his fucking stomach? Just the whole thing—and the poison made his blood feel like a stream of lava running under his skin.
He shivered and he crumbled.
A pair of arms caught him and helped him sit against one of the crates. He just wanted to lie down, damn it.
“Stay with me, Joel,” Scott’s voice said, sharp as a newly honed sword.
Joel forced his eyes to look away from the ceiling and managed to make out Scott’s silhouette, no longer invisible. Most of him faded together with the darker background because they had both worn all black as they always did during covert missions, but the teal hair and pale skin stood out. As did the stars that floated around him like a halo.
“Stars are out,” Joel said. He had no idea what his voice sounded like—and he couldn’t exactly remember if the stars were a good thing or bad thing. But they were shiny, so he liked them.
“Yeah,” Scott said. “Yeah, they’re—look, Joel, I was out of town when the antidote for Watcher poison was under development. Do you remember how much…” His voice faded out, deafened by the rest of them.
“How about you ask someone who’s not dying?” Joel hissed. He covered his ears with his hands. “Can you make them shut up!”
Scott’s mouth moved. Joel refused to remove his hands. They were getting nowhere.
They were going to die like this. Killed by Watchers. Etho would feel guilty about it.
“Why don’t you just leave?” Joel asked through gritted teeth.
Scott glared at him, and even through the pain Joel had the urge to stick out his tongue—ha, I got the rise out of Mr Composure over here—but before he could, Scott’s hand was on his wound, pressing harshly against it.
Joel gasped and removed his hands from his ears, trying with all his power to get Scott to stop—which was hopeless because he was about as useful as Jimmy in his current state.
“Listen to me, Joel,” Scott demanded, the natural blue shade of his eyes mixing with a glowing golden colour. “Lizzie will kill me if I leave you here. So, I’m dead whether I stay or go.”
Joel’s eyes stung at the mention of Lizzie’s name. Scott raised both hands and cupped his cheeks, using his thumbs to brush the tears away. Stupid poison. No, Scott was the idiot, always refusing to save himself. What was that thing he was doing? He had been able to do it since forever. It had something to do with those stars, and the eyes.
“This isn’t gonna go well,” Scott muttered. Despite how close they were, it sounded very much like he was talking to himself.
As Joel was about to ask what the hell he was talking about, a crushing pressure pushed against his body from all sides, forcing the breath out of his lungs. Sharp beams of light forced their way through open cracks in the walls, the corners and lines that separated wall from ceiling and floor, and past all the crates. As if someone had dropped the whole room in a lake of liquid light and they were about to be flooded by it.
The voices were gone, and the only noise that was left was Joel’s laboured breathing and a vague buzz that seemed to surround Scott.
“Five minutes,” Joel whispered. He didn’t need to speak any louder—he didn’t really think he could—because Scott was still holding him, and he supposed that was kind of the best death he could ask for in these circumstances.
Scott blinked down at him, eyes still gleaming and shimmering. “What?”
“The antidote,” Joel breathed, “needs to be given within five minutes with the newest versions.” That was what Scott had asked about? It was the only thing Joel could do to contribute to this.
“Right,” Scott said. “Don’t think about that.”
“What then?”
Scott hummed a tired sound. “Nothing?”
There was something about that word that set something off in his mind. That little last thing that he hadn’t been able to comprehend. It felt almost like a hint. Clever Scott with his nifty powers.
“We’re gone, aren’t we?” Joel said. Then his expression turned into one of horror. “The whole room?” he screeched. Light through the lines of the walls—for goodness’ sake.
When he tried to move—to do… something—Scott hissed out, “Don’t.”
“Bring us back,” Joel demanded in the weakest most pathetic voice ever. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, you bloody idiot!”
“I will bring us back,” Scott assured, chest rising and falling quickly. He removed his hands from Joel’s cheeks and grabbed his hands instead—Joel distantly remembered that contact was important and that the less movement involved, the simpler the process was. “I’m waiting out the explosion.”
“I’m still gonna die, Scott!” Joel cried.
Scott pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You’re not dead until you’re dead.”
“I haven’t updated my will in seven years,” Joel said, voice shaking with hysteria—whether he was closer to laughing or crying wasn’t clear.
Scott let out a muted laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”
“It’s because you look down on me.”
Scott laughed again, this time while shaking his head. The stars floating around his head sparked with colours and Joel’s stomach dropped. “I don’t, Joel. You know that.”
He did know that. He didn’t hate Scott at all. He didn’t want to see Scott implode.
“Put us back right now,” Joel said quickly, desperately. “Put us back—they’re doing—they’re doing the thing.”
“Shit,” Scott cursed. His fingers tightened around Joel’s. “You’re right. Promise me you won’t pass out.” Because the antidote worked more efficiently if the victim was awake, Joel’s mind supplied. And because being pulled from one realm to another and back was dangerous as hell.
“Yeah, yeah.” Joel nodded, vision beginning to blur again—how long had it been? One minute, two? That gave Joel three minutes at best. “I’m gonna be so pissed at you if this is how you die.”
“You’re always mad at me,” Scott said, fondly again.
Joel rolled his eyes and grimaced at the sharp ache that shot through his skull. “I’m not,” he said. “You know that.” If he wasn’t feeling every pain known to man, the mockery might have been more effective. “But I am right now. So, go.”
This time, Scott reacted to his words with urgency. It was pretty obvious why. Joel couldn’t look away as the stars above them flickered like sparklers with all the colours of a nebula. That was the unfortunate thing about Scott’s powers: the prettier everything looked, the more likely everyone around him, Scott included, was to die in an inferno of star power. Flashy.
In case there was any doubt that dragging not just himself, but Joel, and the whole storage room into the stars, was the stupidest thing Scott had ever done, it was proved the moment they were pulled back into the real world. Joel felt the shift all the way to his core, and then he felt as if they were floating in mid-air.
Here was what happened, or, what his poisoned brain could put together: Room had been on second floor. Scott remove room with star powers. Building explode. Scott put them back where they were. Room fall into the rubble of building and collapse on them.
They both passed out on impact.
When Joel woke up next, he was frankly, annoyed to still be alive.
There wasn't even a moment for him to realise that he was alive. He was in the infirmary of the Hermits' HQ, and Scott was there in a bed next to him; awake. (“Joel. I heal faster than you.”). And he didn’t even bother with any pleasantries like ‘glad that we’re both alive, huh, what a day’ before he messaged people that Joel was awake
Not a minute later, Grian came in through the window, feathers literally more ruffled than ever before.
“You are in so much trouble,” he said. Not in a funny way. In a real ‘you fucked up’ way that wasn’t common with him at all.
As Joel opened his mouth to hit Grian with a good and proper retort, a wave of pain rolled over him. He curled in on himself and sucked in a breath.
Grian rushed forward with a furrowed brow. “Are you okay?”
Joel nodded slowly. He was so fine. He would like to know more about the trouble they were in.
From the side, Scott spoke calmly. “Three things, Joel. I told him about BigB. He already knew. He has begged me to not tell anyone else about it.”
“What?” Joel shouted.
“I can explain!” Grian said frantically.
“You better!”
Grian… actually looked sad. His shoulders were sunken, his eyes without their usual spark of mischief. “BigB’s a spy. He’s not—he didn’t mean to hurt you. He was the one who called for help—when—after…”
“After he stabbed Joel and left him to die in a building rigged with explosives?” Scott finished, voice fierce and cutting. He was always so nice to everyone, it was always a shock, and a bit of a joy, to see the scary side of him. “That explanation doesn’t cut it, Grian. The first thing you told me when I woke up was to not tell anyone what we knew. So, the rest of the Hermits are clearly uninvolved. What reason do we have to trust you right now?”
“I—” Grian paused, grimacing. “I need to think.” He began pacing back and forth on the floor.
Joel and Scott shared a look—if it was a bit more of them both evaluating if the other looked okay than them pondering over Grian, no one needed to mention it. And well, if Grian needed to think, then so did Joel.
First of all, by some miracle, they were alive. That would be because BigB, spy or traitor, alerted Grian to what was happening. That would have given Grian enough time to show up to the scene with an antidote and to give them swift medical care. Thanks, Grian.
What else? Two options. One, Grian’s story: BigB was a spy who no one but him could know about because the Watchers were almost impossible to spy on and if more people knew, it could all fall apart.
Second option, the one riddled with paranoia: Grian was the spy. He was one of the newest Hermits. As far as Joel had been told, Grian and some of the other members of the network lived together in some town by the coast. None of them ever spoke about it. Joel never bothered asking. Grian moved to the city and they met soon after that and just clicked. Grian was one of his best friends and that meant his past hadn’t mattered. But there was a space there; a space in Grian’s history for lies and secrets and infiltration.
Joel’s eyes widened as something occurred to him. It wasn’t one option, it was both.
“You’re the bloody runaway, aren’t you?”
Grian froze in his steps, whirling around to meet Joel’s eyes. “Nooo?”
“Oh,” Scott said from the side. “I can’t believe I didn’t put that together.”
Joel snickered. “You’re so slow, Scott. It’s actually a bit embarrassing.”
“How did you know?” Grian practically shrieked, wings spread open behind him.
“The other Watcher there said that killing Joel would send a ‘wonderful’ message to you,” Scott said. “You have a pretty public friendship, so anyone would know that you’d be sad to lose him, but it would sting even more if he died to the organisation you left.”
Joel nodded silently, trying to process the feelings of—betrayal? He should be wanting to murder Grian right about now. But it just… wasn’t there. It wasn’t even because Grian looked one second from a panic attack—pity had never been a shield against Joel’s thirst for blood—he just didn’t feel it.
“Does anyone know?” Joel asked.
For some reason, that question made Grian’s breath hitch. So… yes.
“Who, Grian?” Scott asked, but it wasn’t really a question.
“Martyn,” Grian forced out. Trust me, trust me, trust me, his words seemed to hide beneath, I’m telling you the truth now.
That name didn’t surprise Joel as much as it should. Thinking back, Martyn and Grian did have some kind of tension hanging between them. If Joel cared a little more, he might try to figure out what that was about.
“And?” Scott prompted because any idiot with half a brain knew that Grian was stalling with the other names.
“Pearl knows too,” Grian said, looking away from Scott so he wouldn’t see the flash of hurt. He talked to Joel in a rushed voice. “She also knows about BigB—but Martyn doesn’t. He just knows about the other thing.”
“Noted,” Joel deadpanned. “Anyone else?”
“There is one more…” Grian said slowly. “And I will tell you. I will. But you have to promise me you won’t fault him.”
“Grian,” Joel said seriously—he hated being serious with Grian. They had fun. That was their thing. Not this. “Neither of us are about to go babbling. Just get it over with so we can go back to being normal.”
And that was, in fact, a promise. Because Joel really didn’t care about the big things. If he hadn’t felt anything malicious towards Grian yet, that just meant their friendship was stronger than he thought. Which was nice, actually.
“What Joel said,” Scott said from the side.
Grian took a deep breath, looked at the wall between both their beds as if awaiting an inevitable storm, and said, “Tim knows.”
The storm never came. Grian’s words forced a silence into the room. One that slithered in, expanded, and blocked all the airways, leaving them in a miserable vacuum.
Joel’s first reaction was to sort through every single interaction with Jimmy he could remember, trying to find one, just one, where it seemed like Jimmy had ties to the Watchers. He couldn’t. That was the devastating part. All the years they had known each other, the fact that they were in-laws, and nothing.
Scott was smart, or less stunned. He started asking questions. “How long?” Simple, cold, sad.
“Oh, I get it,” Joel said. “He found out by chance and you threatened him to keep quiet.”
Grian shook his head. “I went missing for a year before I moved here. Pearl, Tim, BigB, and Martyn were the only ones who knew I had any ties to the Watchers.”
“You all lived together on the coast, right?” Scott asked, a bit softer than before.
“Yes. The Watchers used to operate out there. I joined them before I knew that they were anything but a weird small-town cult. I left them as soon as I figured out what they were about.” Grian looked like he was about to pass out, so Joel curled his legs up against his chest and space for the poor man to just sit down.
With a weak, thankful smile, Grian kept talking. “By the time I was out, everyone else had moved away. The Watchers had gotten more ambitious and decided to target a bigger city—that’s here, by the way. I followed them in hopes that I could be of some help against them. I didn’t know that everyone else had moved here too.” He looked at Joel. “And I didn’t threaten Tim. I begged him. He and the rest of the squad all thought that the Watchers had killed me, so when I came back, I had to explain everything. I guess I don’t really get why they haven’t said anything, but you can ask them—except for BigB, right now.”
“Bloody hell, Grian.” Joel dragged a hand down his face. “I just wanted to steal some cool stuff.”
Grian’s lip quirked. “Well, you’re a lucky man because most of the stuff actually survived. Thanks to Scott.” He turned to look at the man in question. “I hope that was worth it, dude.”
Scott shrugged. “It was.”
“It’s in my private storage right now,” Grian explained to Joel. “But, it will be a few months before either of you will get any use out of it.”
“Wait, what, why?” Joel asked.
“I did say you were in trouble, didn’t I?” Grian said. This time, there was humour to it, but it was somehow much less funny than before.
Here was the deal. Scott’s little realm-shift stunt had depleted him of so much of his power that he’d be incapable of creating a single spark for months. Joel didn’t feel bad for him for that one. That was what he got for salvaging a whole entire room like some moron.
He felt more bad for himself, who was now officially on the Watchers' radar for being alive when he shouldn’t. Grian explained that he had been passed out for two days, and that during that time BigB, playing a double agent, had informed the Watchers that not only had Joel survived, but two people had been there to learn about BigB’s identity. This would have compromised the mission, had BigB not reported back to the Watchers that Joel and Scott had been so hurt during the whole incident, that they couldn’t remember it at all.
“And they believed that?” Joel had asked incredulously. Grian had shrugged and said, “If they don't, BigB will be dead soon.” Which was bad for the mission, but Joel couldn’t find it within himself to care. BigB hadn’t known that Scott was there at all. Whatever remorse he had felt about having to kill Joel to keep up his act didn’t erase the fact that he almost killed him.
After talking for an hour, Joel began to feel woozy again and Scott made the call to stop the chat. Lizzie had cut her visit short and was on her way. Jimmy would be visiting soon enough. Etho would probably sneak in at some point to be his weird self. And Joel couldn’t be bothered to care about all the big Watcher stuff when all his friends were so worried—about him. It was a bit strange that they were worried about him.
“I still can’t believe you saved the stuff,” Joel said to Scott at some point when Grian left to get both of them dinner. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart and boring one.”
Scott smiled a bit of a devilish smile. “I just couldn’t resist it. The Hermits always keep all the best things to themselves, so where are we supposed to get our things if not from the common enemy, hm? And there was so much stuff in there—some of it might even be important.”
Joel snorted. “We’ll have plenty of time to figure that out.”
“You say that as if you aren’t going to be attempting to sneak out in like three days when the boredom gets to you.”
Point to Scott, who knew him too well.
“It’ll take me at least a week if you’re there to thwart my attempts,” Joel retorted. Yes, I know you too, idiot.
Two weeks later—about an eternity before Grian was comfortable with them walking around in public—they snuck out together and had dinner at that new restaurant downtown. The night after that, they had a fight in the streets, a public spectacle of vigilantes going against each other. Then brunch in the morning.
The Watcher things didn’t matter that much after that.
At least not for a while.